1
Michelle
If you have a weak stomach,nursing isn’t for you. If the sight of blood makes you woozy, try accounting. And if the smell of urine makes you gag—well, good luck making it through the first week. Someone to my right was already failing that test, retching into their elbow. Rookie mistake. I, on the other hand, barely noticed. A successful nurse doesn’t flinch, doesn’t fumble with the bedpan, and definitely doesn’t dry heave over a bodily function they’ll be dealing with for the rest of their career.
Ally Kay, a middle-aged veteran, who had the most badass name for a nurse, watched with her usual sharp gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. She doesn’t coddle. She doesn’t offer sympathy. And she definitely doesn’t have patience for students with weak stomachs. She is the best clinical instructor to be paired with.
“If you can’t handle the smell, this career will be quite difficult for you,” she said, her tone clipped, eyes peeking over the edge of her glasses a little too long on the girl beside me. Then, without missing a beat, she moved past me. Ally rarely handed out praise, and I respected that. Details were her thing, but they were also mine. They had to be my thing if I was going to survive nursing school and I most definitely had to survive nursing school. There was no plan B. No other options on the table for me.
“Now, if the patients are connected to a catheter, you will need to remove it like so.” She held up the device that emptied into a large bag. “Make sure you always check the bag when you enter the patient’s room.”
“And we just dump the urine in the toilet?” a student whined.
“Yes. You empty the bag into the plastic container, making sure to always measure the amount and then dump the urine in the toilet.” She modeled the final part. “The sooner you get over the fact you will get bodily fluids on yourself, the sooner you can prepare your mind to be a nurse.”
Our small group mumbled under their breath at her, but I stayed focused. She wasn’t wrong.
Ally checked her watch and sighed. “You’re going to be on your feet for at least eight hours, often without a real break. Make sure you hydrate.” She glanced around at us. “I’ve had students pass out from dehydration, and trust me, no one has time to catch you if you drop.”
She led us out into the hallway, away from patient rooms, before taking a long sip from her water bottle. The rest of us weren’t allowed drinks anywhere near the patients, but one guy in our group took her words to heart a little too seriously. The moment we hit the break room, he cracked open a neon-colored sports drink and started chugging like he’d just crossed the desert. I couldn’t help but laugh.
Ally gave him a single, unimpressed glance before continuing. “Alright, listen up. This week is your first clinical rotation at Victory Hospital—three full days on the floor, the other two in classes. Victory is the busiest hospital in the valley, so keep up, pay attention, and for the love of everything holy, don’t pass out.”
Ally clapped her hands together, her no-nonsense tone cutting through the murmur of students. “You’re all paired up with a seasoned nurse today. You’ll shadow them for eight hours before debriefing and giving reports to your preceptor. Professor Hannigan made it clear—this is not an observation day. You’ll be taking care of patients. That means vitals, toileting, washing, assessing, and whatever else the day throws at you–which means yes, more bodily fluids will be thrown at you.” She crossed her arms over her dark blue scrubs and tapped her foot twice. “Any questions?”
The room went still. No one wanted to be the idiot who slowed things down.
Except Bella.
The girl next to me, chatty and friendly but apparently lacking basic self-preservation, raised her hand. Ally barely moved, just a slight tilt of her jaw to acknowledge her. “What is it, Bella?”
“Will we be out of here by four?”
I stiffened.Bad choice.Very bad choice. Despite the fact I desperately needed to leave by then to make it to my best friend’s engagement party, I knew better than to ask when we’d be done.
A thick silence settled over the group. Even the students who had been zoning out suddenly looked alert, watching to see what Ally would do. We all knew better than to ask about leaving early. This wasn’t some casual part-time gig—it was clinicals. Even though I already knew I’d miss a good chunk of my best friend’s engagement party tonight, the thought of skipping out early never even crossed my mind.
Bella, though? She might as well have just set her own career on fire.
Ally took a deep breath before marking something on her clipboard. “No.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but her unit phone went off and she snapped her fingers and said my name. “Follow me, Michelle.”
Bella looked relieved at not being chosen by Ally, and I smiled. Tough people didn’t scare me. Neither did no-nonsense, no-small-talk or intimidating people. If anything, I appreciated them because my life was so damn busy that a minute saved from awkward conversation could be better spent doing anything else.
Ally held up the phone and replied to the charge nurse’s request. Each patient on the floor had a call button that went to the nurses’ station and unit phone, allowing for a quicker response when the patients needed something. It was pretty cool, and Ally met my eyes before responding. “We’re on our way.”
She went to a locked room storing medication, came back a couple minutes later with a med cart and a small cup with three different pill packages to bring to the patient’s room.
She walked fast and with purpose, and I matched her stride as she headed further down the maternity ward, informing me about the patient en route. “Lindy Jetton is recovering from an emergency C-section, and her baby is in the NICU. The night nurse will update us before our shift starts, and I want you to take her blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature then mark them down.”
“Will do.”
She stopped, knocked on a door twice, and eyed me. “I’ve heard good things about you.”
Pride filled my chest. That compliment meant everything. I put my blood, sweat, tears, soul, and sleep patterns for this degree. “Thank you. I work hard.”
“Prove it.”
We entered the small room with our med cart. Inside, a petite woman with blonde hair piled on top of her head looking exhausted laid on the bed. Her face was pale, her lips turned down at the sides, and the man I assumed to be the father of her child sat helpless on the small pull-out couch.
